


2019 Whumptober Prompts

by Behind_The_Hood



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassination Attempt(s), Betrayal, Blood Loss, Bombing, Break Up, Cheating, Death, Domestic Violence, Drowning, Fainting, Fever Dreams, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Head Injury, Imprisonment, Infection, Kidnapping, Loneliness, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Mugging, Murder, Nightmares, Paranoia, Pedophilia, Pining, Post-Break Up, Rape/Non-con Elements, Regicide, Schizophrenia, Self-Harm, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Soldiers, Stabbing, Starvation, Surgery, Treason, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-10 17:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Behind_The_Hood/pseuds/Behind_The_Hood
Summary: Day 1: Shaking HandsDay 2: ExplosionDay 3: DeliriumDay 4: Human ShieldDay 5: Gun PointDay 6: Dragged AwayDay 7: IsolationDay 8: Stab WoundDay 9: ShackledDay 10: UnconsciousDay 11: StitchesDay 12: "Don't move."Day 13: AdrenalineDay 14: Tear-stainedDay 15: ScarsDay 16: Pinned DownDay 17: "Stay with me."Day 18: Muffled ScreamDay 19: AsphyxiationDay 20: TremblingDay 21: Laced DrinkDay 22: HallucinationDay 23: Bleeding OutDay 24: Secret InjuryDay 25: HumiliationDay 26: AbandonedDay 27: RansomDay 28: BeatenDay 29: NumbDay 30: RecoveryDay 31: Embrace





	1. Shaking Hands (Laurent)

Going into the coffee house in the morning is a quiet affair with the barista behind the counter giving her familiar smile, though her brows are furrowed now. Laurent is given his usual latte, Damen’s plain black coffee sat right alongside it.

Laurent pays for his drinks, takes them both, and decides not to linger like he normally would.

He throws away his empty cup when he steps into the library, Damen’s cup steadily growing cold in his hands. He takes a moment to appreciate the smell of it, reminding him of Damen’s early morning kisses, then throws that cup away too.

The librarian pays him no mind; Laurent's as regular here as he is the coffee house. He peruses the shelves, feeling adrift and unsure for the first time in years. He leaves an hour later, no book in hand. He doesn’t look at the librarian as he leaves, so he doesn’t see her weathering face sending empathy his way. He doesn’t _want_ to see it.

He’s been allowed a few days off work for the planning and arrangements, so, with little else to do, he decides to return home.

Turning the key in the lock and walking into the cold apartment, Laurent knows he’ll regret coming home so soon. He kicks off his shoes, removes his jacket, and untangles his scarf from his neck. He catches his reflection in the entryway mirror, the hickies Damen left on his neck yesterday still prominent and dark.

Laurent turns his eyes away, a lump forming in his throat, and foregoes the lights.

He sits on their bed, body slumping forward.

He runs shaking hands through his poorly groomed hair, Damen’s shirt hanging off his frame, and takes a stuttering breath. He pulls the shirt up to his nose and takes a deep inhale. It smells like sweat from the gym and has a stain from where Damen had held his meatball sub too loosely at lunch the day before, but Laurent hates to think of ever washing it again.

He releases the shirt and rubs his hands down his thighs in a harsh manner, forcing another deep breath. He looks aside and sees himself in his bedroom mirror, in all his pathetic glory. Breathing ragged and looking broken, that is the final straw for Laurent’s composure. It’s a reminder of when he’d lost Auguste: looking too small in Auguste’s too big shirt, hair unkempt, and fighting back tears.

And now Damen…

Laurent’s hands fist his hair, falling backwards on their empty bed.

“I wish you were here,” he whispers to the air, broken.

His phone rings then, and Laurent doesn’t know if he even cares enough to answer. But he does, because he needs the distraction.

It’s the funeral home.


	2. Explosion (Damen & Auguste, Damen/Laurent)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooboy, meant to post this hours ago. My apologies. But here it is!

They couldn’t have known, but they should have. One moment he was watching Auguste’s back as they ran across the sand, the next he had sand in his eyes, pieces of shrapnel were being lodged into his body, his uniform leg had caught fire, then his skin had burned as well, and his ears were ringing.

Damen grunts as he gets to his side, hearing still out and dust settling around them. It isn’t the only landmine set off; Damen can see others in their unit being blasted into the air and dying. His eyes fall to Auguste, lying still and bleeding beside him. His vision blurs as he reaches for his friend, and then everything goes black.

* * *

When Damen wakes up, it’s to beeping, the muffled murmur of voices, and quiet weeping. His tongue feels thick in his mouth and his eyes crusty from too much sleep. He cracks one open, and then the other. The room is a dull grey with white floors and ceilings. He’s lying in a bed, tucked under sheets and a knitted blanket—all but one leg, which is up in a sling and looking worse for wear with what Damen would guess are third degree burns. There’s an IV in the back of his hand and a clamp on his fingertip.

He tilts his head to the side to find the source of the crying, blinking at the harsh lights from outside the window’s open blinds. First he sees Auguste, several parts of his body wrapped over in a thick layer of gauze and his skin waxy with an ashy pallor. Then he sees the blond man half sprawled over Auguste’s bed, crying quietly.

Laurent.

He knows that if Laurent is with them, then it must be worse than just stepping on a landmine.

Damen looks back to Auguste for a fleeting moment, wondering if perhaps they don’t expect him to live much longer. He also wonders how long they’ve been here, if maybe they’d been flown home for their treatment. That could mean an honorable discharge.

His head begins to throb. He bites back a groan since Laurent doesn’t know he’s awake. From what he knows of Laurent, he wouldn’t appreciate being caught in such a vulnerable state.

Damen has never met Laurent in person—being stationed on another continent can put a bit of a damper on meeting new people; it was always through video chat and care package letters that they interacted. He and Auguste would always greet Laurent at the same time each week, and seeing his beautiful, smiling face on the screen had the affect of lifting the burdens from Damen’s shoulders for a while.

Laurent hadn’t rejected Damen the first time he’d reached out without Auguste as a buffer between them, if coming off a little surprised at only seeing Damen’s face. Then it became a normal occurrence. If Auguste was out on his patrol but Laurent had been online, Damen would be there, sending a video request and waiting hopefully to see that blond head and those beautiful eyes. After a while, Laurent would send Damen his own letters and care packages alongside his brother’s, and Auguste would rib at Damen for his obvious crush.

“I can’t lose you too,” he hears Laurent whisper, muffled into Auguste’s sheets. It’s then he notices Laurent clutching Auguste’s hand like a lifeline.

Damen can’t watch; the scene breaks his heart into pieces. His brother-in-arms lying prone in a hospital bed, and the man he’s grown to love from afar breaking down by his side is too much for him to bear. He sees the PCA pump by his thigh, and presses once, letting a painless sleep take him for the time being.


	3. Delirium (Laurent)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would have hallucinations, but I edited this and took out the hallucinations.

Endless blue, in every direction he turns his head. His piece of ship debris rocks with the waves of the ocean, the sun beats down on his burnt skin, the breeze bites at his wounds. He lays flat on his back to keep his weight even over the board, dazed as he watches a bird fly overhead.

He’d been on his way to see Damen, his first trip by sea. Damen's letter had promised that it would be quicker, that he’d take Laurent sailing once he’d arrived in Ios and gotten a feel for his sea legs. Laurent had been nervous but excited, the prospect of being on a ship new and intriguing.

The storm had hit out of nowhere. They’d been too far out to make it back to shore, but even if they’d tried, it would have already been too late. It hit quick and relentless, tipping the ship and ripping it to shreds.

Laurent doesn’t know if anyone else survived. If anyone else is adrift as he is. If anyone in Ios has gotten word. If there is even word to be gotten.

The bird circles overhead once more, ‘round and ‘round and ‘round it flies. Laurent feels himself twirling, his mind whirling. The bird caws, swooping for fish. Laurent licks his cracked lips with his dry tongue. He hasn’t had anything to eat in two days. Anything to drink in the same. He’s heard the rumors of salt water driving men crazy, to believe in the unseen.

Laurent already feels his wits escaping him, and doesn’t trust that the water surrounding him won’t rob of him what remains.

But he also knows that if he goes much longer without anything, he’ll die regardless. He’s seen no signs of land, and he doubts he will anytime soon. But if he ever hopes to live through this, he’ll need some form of sustenance.

He thinks about the bird, still flying over him. A tasty, juicy bird. Laurent licks his lips once more, fingers curling with want. The bird will have to land at some point, and Laurent’s board is the only place to go.

As the thought passes through his mind, how he might attract it, catch it, kill it, _eat_ it, a particularly strong wave hits, tipping him over into the water and bashing his head open with his makeshift raft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, I wasn't overly confident in this prompt? I didn't quite know what to do with it, but overall I think it turned out okay? Sort of? Meh. Other than the prompt part of it all, I'm happy with how this looks.


	4. Gun Point (Auguste & Laurent, Govart)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Govart is not obvious here, like at all, but he's who I've placed as 'the man' if that matters to anyone. Enjoy!

Laurent swings Auguste’s hand back and forth as hard as he can while they walk, humming one of their mother’s songs as loud as his voice will carry. Auguste is smiling beside him, gate slow to keep pace with Laurent’s little legs.

It’s late out, the street lights on and the sky dark. Auguste’s soccer practice had held over an extra two hours, but Auguste’s friend Kastor had brought his little brother with him too. Damen was fun to play with. Usually Laurent has to sit off to the side by himself and do his homework.

Auguste chuckles beside Laurent when he lifts their hands to twirl under them like he sees Mommy doing with Daddy when they go dancing. Auguste has changed back into his school uniform, so now he and Laurent match again; blue vest and striped tie and boring slacks for Vere Academy. Their family’s academy.

Their family’s crest on the breast of their vests.

Auguste twirls Laurent several more times as they go down the deserted sidewalks. Their driver recently retired, but Auguste had been fine with walking them home. Mommy and Daddy have been stressed lately, and they hadn’t wanted to bother them. Besides, Laurent likes having this time alone with Auguste; usually Auguste is off with his friends or his dates or with college scouts.

Laurent is just getting his vision back to rights after all that spinning when he’s grabbed by his shirt collar and ripped to the side, his hand slipping from Auguste’s. Laurent yelps, something cold being knocked to the side of his head and held there, a meaty arm around his neck.

Laurent grasps it, his eyes watering. “Auguste!”

Auguste is standing in the mouth of the alley, a mix of worried and enraged. He’s in one of his fighting stances and glaring, his fingers curling in and out of fists.

The person holding Laurent jostles him violently. Laurent chokes on a sob, coughing. “Watch it de Vere, or I’ll blow his little head off,” the man warns, roving the cold thing through Laurent’s hair.

Laurent can only make out the blur of Auguste’s form through his tears, but he can see Auguste raising his hands in a calming manner, like he does when Laurent’s pony gets spooked. “What do you want?”

“Your father’s in deep, and my boss is tired of his excuses. I’m here to make sure he gets the message: we want our money.”

Laurent sees what was pressed to his head then, because now it’s pointed at Auguste.

Laurent flinches, screams, when the gun is fired, deafening his ears.

Laurent is shoved forward, scrapping his pants open, then his knees, when they hit the asphalt. His hands and knees are bleeding, but he crawls to Auguste, laying out over the sidewalk, clutching his shoulder and gritting his teeth.

Laurent kneels by his side, trying to stop his tears because Auguste is hurt, and he needs Laurent’s help.

Auguste looks at him, tears in his own eyes. He tries for a smile, but it wavers. “Laurent," he pants, "Call 911.”

Just as Laurent is pulling his emergency phone from his backpack, the gun goes off again, and all he can feel is white-hot burning pain in his side, hear his name being called in Auguste’s rough, desperate voice. It hurts...


	5. Human Shield (Damen/Laurent, Laurent & Nicaise, Regent)

“You’ll remain there and not dare a step closer,” his uncle warns, holding Nicaise’s carefully still body to his own, sword to his throat. Nicaise keeps his face in a peeve, but Laurent can see the quiver of his hands, the wary in his eyes. He doesn’t know anymore than Laurent whether his uncle will truly kill him.

But they don’t like their odds.

His uncle takes another step back, making his way out of the throne room with his men protecting his flanks. He has the exit, and Laurent’s men don’t have a proper shot. Nicaise is just tall enough and wide enough to protect his uncle from Jord and Lazar’s arrows.

Laurent’s fingers twitch, and his uncle’s eyes dart at the motion.

They both know Laurent wouldn’t risk Nicaise’s life. Nicaise would be in a safer position now if he hadn’t mouthed off about Laurent’s willingness to buy his contract in a bid to show his worth. Now his uncle knows he cares. Nicaise was so much safer when his uncle thought Laurent cared for nothing and no one.

Damen is frowning beside him, and Laurent can see his mind working. He’s trying as hard as Laurent to find a way to save Nicaise and keep Laurent’s uncle from leaving this room. They have the numbers for a fight, but Laurent could never let Nicaise be hurt, so all men stand aside and wait.

Unlike Damen, however, Laurent knows there is no option. They have to wait this out and face off with his uncle once more at a later date.

His uncle’s men open the door for him, and he drags Nicaise out into the hall with him. His expression grows oddly flat, head tilting. There’s a pause where everyone grows still, breath bated, then, in a quick and final motion, Nicaise’s throat is slit open and his uncle is rushing down the hall.

Laurent’s knees buckle after Nicaise’s body hits the ground, his eyes rolling up, hands clutching air. Laurent chokes out a pained sound, Damen running passed him with a disregarding leap over Nicaise’s body to pursue Laurent’s uncle. Everyone follows, red and blue uniforms alike, leaving Laurent alone, to crawl to Nicaise’s body; his slender throat still spurting blood, pooling around his head in a grotesque halo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will post chapter five as soon as I wake up. I'm barely holding my eyes open to get this one out. Sorry it's three minutes over the mark, guys.


	6. Dragged Away (Laurent, Nicaise, Regent)

Nicaise is glaring at him, which isn’t unusual. No, him standing beside Laurent during dinner isn’t odd at all for Nicaise. The room is loud with whispers and moans, also usual for the dining hall. What’s different—and should be more disturbing than it is—is the blood pouring for the gaping cut through his neck.

“You look as though you’ve eaten something sour, nephew.”

Laurent drags his gaze away from Nicaise, still silent and radiating rage, to his uncle, standing on his other side. The hall is still filled with sound, but from the corner of his eye, Laurent can see that they’re alone now.

His uncle tuts, shaking his head sadly. He reaches out to Laurent, taking his chin between two fingers, his grip bruising. Laurent thinks of pulling away, and when the grip becomes bone crushing, he tries to wrench away. But his body will not obey him.

Uncle tuts again. “You use to be so sweet, and now look at you, murdering innocents.”

Laurent wants to ask what his uncle means. He’s never touched an innocent before in his life, never harmed one. His mouth will not open.

His head is turned back to the table, and in every seat sits a child his uncle has used for his debaucherous pleasure.

Some sit too old in their chairs, their clothes too small and faces smiling yet stained with tears, their eyes desperate as they look up the table to Uncle. Others, they have slits over their wrists, their throats, their eyes gauged out, bruised beyond recognition. Laurent is horrified to see he recognizes some of the faces, the boys he tried to save.

Laurent watches Nicaise take his own seat. He looks at Laurent rather than Uncle and reaches his hands up. He takes hold of his head and removes it from his shoulders, the whole of his spine slipping from his back, pulling blood and meat with it. Laurent can only watch in horror as the head is placed on Nicaise’s plate, still glaring at Laurent, now tilted on its side. “This is all your fault. He wouldn’t love me because of you.”

That turns all eyes—all _remaining_ eyes—Laurent’s direction.

The dining hall fades around them then, shifting to the throne room instead, with Uncle wearing the king’s crown and sitting on the king’s throne. He smiles at Laurent, pitying. “You’ve fought a long, hard battle, nephew, and for what?” He gestures to the children lining either side of the long, red rug leading from Laurent’s place in his dining room chair up to the throne. “For this? For those you hoped to protect to be punished in your place? If you’d gone to your death with a little grace, they wouldn’t have needed to die as well.”

Nicaise breaks away from his place, his head once more on his shoulders but bleeding no less, and he sits at Uncle’s feet. Uncle pets Nicaise’s head, once, lifting one side briefly from its place.

Once more with a tut and a shake. “As they have been done wrongly by your actions, I have decided they will see your punishment through.”

He holds his hand out, waiting for the children’s replies. Not a face turns from Laurent as, in unison, they all begin to chant, “Death! Death! Death!”

Laurent flinches at their sentencing. He only ever wanted to protect them. His chair is ripped from under him, sending Laurent sprawled over the floor. It’s black, that is all that remains of the room around them. Black, and with Uncle fading away on his throne, farther and farther he goes from Laurent’s reach.

Laurent gasps at the first touch on his ankle. A little hand, grasping at Laurent from the black ink pool he’s floating on, swimming in, drowning under.

Little hands pull Laurent deeper and deeper, his breath gone from his lungs and vision obscured by images of his loved ones, all frowning in disgust or disappointment, turning away from Laurent.

And Laurent cannot move as he’s dragged deeper still.

* * *

Laurent’s eyes open first, wide and frightened. He sits bolt upright, his chest heaving for his lost air, body coated in sweat, and his eyes blinking to take in his surroundings. Damianos sleeps fitfully at his side.


	7. Isolation (Damen)

Damen listens to the _drip-drip-drip_ from farther into the dungeons. He’ll go mad from the sound soon. Damen has seen no one, heard no one, and has not been brought food or water since he was placed down here days ago. He wonders if the whipping post wound have been better, but in the end, he’d been placed in the cells instead.

At the time, he’d wanted to call it a change of heart, but Laurent’s parting words haunt him now.

_“My dear brute,” Laurent had said. “I want you to rot here.”_

And rot he shall, at this rate. He has no cot to sleep on, not blanket for warmth, no chamber pot for dignity. His clothing is little more than silk scraps and the metal of his cuffs and collar hold in the chill of the room, settling into his bones. The whole area is dark. There had been torches lit, when he was first brought down, but no one has returned to relight them since. He remains huddled in the corner, arms around his knees, listening, praying for any sign that someone will be here to save him or spare him the death he fears awaits.

Forgotten in the prison of his enemy. Starved and dehydrated. Alone.

Damen shivers, pressing his forehead to his knees. He’s going to die alone here.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._


	8. Stab Wound (Theomedes & Kastor, Damen)

Theomedes shifts the damp hair from Damianos’ sweaty forehead. His side is stitched up and treated, but he is sweating off a fever. The physician expects he’ll survive, but the wound is deep and will scar. Damianos shivers under his touch, gritting his teeth, and Theomedes frowns.

He turns from his youngest to his eldest, standing in the corner of the room with his arms folded, frowning at the floor.

He rises from his seat and moves to stand before Kastor.

The slaves leave first, and the rest in the room take this as their que to exit as well.

Kastor does not look up, the petulant child that he is. His hands, instead, tighten around his arms, the wrinkle between his brows deepening. “I didn’t mean—”

“He could have died,” Theomedes cuts in, voice sharp. Kastor doesn’t flinch, so he continues. “He could _still_ die.”

“The physician said—” Kastor begins to look up to defend himself, but stops short at the expression on Theomedes’ face.

His teeth click as his mouth shuts, and he drops his gaze back to the ground, shoulders pulling in. This is the first sign of true remorse Theomedes has seen since the sword entered Damianos’ abdomen. “He is your brother; does that mean so little to you?”

Kastor does not respond, and Theomedes banishes him from the room without another word.

He returns to Damianos’ side, taking his boy’s hand and praying he be healed.

He prays also for a change in Kastor’s heart.


	9. Shackled (Damen/Laurent)

Damianos roves his eyes over Laurent’s body once more, the corner of his lip quirking upwards. His bastard brother is standing stoic at his side, glaring at Auguste, and Damianos’ newest appointed kyros is whispering fervently in his ear. Kastor had done so earlier, and Laurent had heard something of a man named Adrastus.

Laurent doesn’t shift, for the shackles chaining his wrists together would make a sound, and that would draw more unwanted attention to his person. Instead, he glares at Damianos’ wanting gaze, and waits for Theomedes to arrive to discuss the exchange of Laurent’s release.

At thirty-two, Auguste looks the part of a regal king; not a hair out of place. But Laurent watches his fingers twitch where they rest over the pommel of his sheathed sword, and he knows that Auguste is anxious to have Laurent returned to his side. Wounded in his battle with Damianos, throwing himself between the blade of the Akielon and his brother, Laurent now stands as the Akielons' prisoner.

And their bargaining chip.

Laurent knows losing Delfeur would wound them economically, as well as hurt the morale of their people as a whole, but he also knows, were he in Auguste’s place, he would give up his entire kingdom to have his brother hale and hearty at his side.

The pain in his shoulder is throbbing, and with the adrenaline gone, he can feel it acutely. Damianos’ sword had gone straight through, meant for Auguste’s chest, Auguste’s _heart_. Laurent had collapsed, and in Auguste’s shock, Damianos had placed the sword to Laurent’s throat and demanded Auguste’s surrender.

And here they are, Laurent a prize between two kingdoms, being leered at by one man, glared at by two, and the other unconcerned with his being either way. It is Auguste’s gaze he focuses on, unwavering and assuring. He will bring Laurent home if he must slaughter the whole land around them.

Damianos comes to stand by his side, five years older than Laurent with a reputation well-known through the kingdoms, and doesn’t smile now that he is to begin negotiations.

Interestingly, Theomedes does not come forward, nor does Kastor.

“Delpha, for your prince.”

Auguste nods, lips set in a thin line. “Agreed.”

Damianos does not look at his father, but Laurent can see that he wants to. He looks down at Laurent though, and Laurent watches those dark eyes gazing at him again, lust more than apparent. Without looking away, he addresses Auguste once more, “If you are so quick to agree, I wonder what else you would be willing to give up for your dear, sweet brother.”

Laurent keeps his expression gentle, leaning closer to keep the words between them. “If you find me sweet now, then you are truly in for a treat.” He leans ever closer, never taking his eyes away from Damianos’, who looks enamored already. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors; that I’ve never taken a lover before. I’ll warn you, should you think of taking me to your bed—” he rips Damianos’ sword from its sheath, heavy and foreign in his linked hands, and presses the blade to his throat. A flurry of motion bursts around them, and Laurent whispers lowly, sneering, “I’ll kill you.”

If anything, Damianos’ eyes seem to sparkle at the promise.


End file.
